


Defecting

by eleanor_lavish



Category: NSYNC, Sports RPF
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-08
Updated: 2004-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Um... PWP?  With swimmers?  yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defecting

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://ssecca01.livejournal.com/profile)[**ssecca01**](http://ssecca01.livejournal.com/), who begged so adorably, I could not say no.  He wanted Lance/Phelps.  The Swim Girls (as I shall call them) wanted Lance/Thorpe.  I got carried away.  Extra special thanks to [](http://beckynicky.livejournal.com/profile)[**beckynicky**](http://beckynicky.livejournal.com/) who got past the Jesse bit to beta.  And to [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=thegyaboyfriend)[](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=thegyaboyfriend)****for what I am assured was a brilliant dramatic reading, even if he did skip the ass parts.

 

He’d lost track of how long he’d been sitting on this bench, surrounded by trees that smelled like the ocean, his feet scuffing on cobblestones that had been there hundreds of years before Christ.  Lance was in love with Greece.  Chris was too, but in a more hyperactive Chris way—he was off exploring some ruin or another and had dragged poor Jesse along for the ride.  They had come for the Olympics and spent their first week in full ‘Go Team USA’ mode.  But after a week the city began to seep into Lance’s soul, and he spent more time wandering the countryside than sitting in the stands.  He was just soaking it in—the tang of the food, the loud laughs of the people, the feeling that Athens had seen everything before, that nothing would be surprising or judged.  Lance felt that the city was nearly perfect in design.  In times of real danger, it stood proud and strong, and everything else would be shrugged off the great stone cliffs into the sea.

“Bass!”  Chris’s voice cut across his latest reverie ( _I wonder if dolphins, like, vacation, because I would totally vacation in Greece if I were a dolphin—lots of lagoons…_ )  “We’re heading to the plaza.  You comin’?”

“Yeah…”  Lance stretched lazily and smiled as his spine cracked and tingled.  A lovely boy with olive skin and dark eyes—a clone of the hundreds of boys who had passed this bench in the hours he’d been nursing his cappuccino—passed, and caught his eye and smiled shyly, slipping his hand easily into his companions.  Yeah.

Lance really loved Greece.

*

It was late that night when he first saw them.  They stood out among the Greek men—taller, fairer, and slightly unsure of themselves in this mob of drinking and dancing and joy.  From behind they could have been any number of foreign athletes taking time from the competition to see the nightlife of Athens.  But in profile, there was no mistake and Lance sat up straight in his chair.

Jesse snickered beside him.  “You are so fucking predictable.”

“What?”

“You’ve been here a _week_ practically drooling on the sidewalk at the natives, and the only guys you _really_ want are the ones you can’t have.  As per usual.”  He threw a pointed look at Chris, who was laughing and dancing with a handful of pretty Greek girls in colorful skirts.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lance muttered, slumping back in his seat.  He picked up his drink—some wonderfully heady Greek beer—and studied the inside of the glass, avoiding Jesse’s amused look.

Half a minute later, Jesse’s wry voice interrupted his attempts at pouting.  “Well, I’ll be damned, Bass,” he said quietly.  “Maybe you picked a winner after all.”  His head almost dislocated from his shoulders, he spun it around so quickly.

In a dark corner of the plaza, he could see them all laughing with each other, muffled toasts being tossed around carelessly, but most falling on three tall boys with matching wide smiles and short sun-bleached hair.  Lance knew them by name.  He was pretty sure the world did at this point, based on the events of the last week.  Ian.  Pieter.  And Michael.

And they were holding hands.  All three of them.  Discreetly and not all the time, but enough that Jesse, with his eagle eyes always looking out for Lance’s best interests, had noticed.  Lance shot him a smile that he meant to look wicked, but judging by the roll of Jesse’s eyes came off more eager than anything else.  “I’m gonna go buy the swimmers a congratulatory round.”

“Have fun with that.”  His assistant’s tone was teasing, with a hint of caution, but Lance could see that Jesse was already trying to figure out a way to steal one of Chris’s entourage away for the night.  He knew Lance well enough not to wait up.

*

Lance had been to an Olympic Village before, but he couldn’t help the giddy feeling in his stomach as Ian cooed and cajoled and flirted Lance past three rounds of security.  Pieter just laughed and tugged on his hand, pulling him along in the middle of a mob of swimmers bodies.  He was feeling almost lost, drowning ( _why the hell are they all so tall?_ ), until he felt long fingers on his hips pushing him toward an open doorway topped with a star-studded flag and heard Michael’s incredibly comforting American accent murmuring in his ear, “Wanna be Aussies for the night? I promise Ian won’t mind.”

The mob thinned at the doorway, little factions running off to find their own nations.  Lance thought to himself that the security detail at the Australian dorm was obviously less stringent than at the American one when the guard looked at the four of them and simply chuckled, letting them all pass without so much as a word.  But he caught the wink Pieter gave her and wondered if maybe the security was just used to this.  Maybe they were just tired of logging an American and a Dutchman into the books every night.  The thought made Lance shiver.

They shoved their way into the nearest elevator, Lance ignoring the giggles from two of the most muscular girls he had ever seen.  “Triathletes,” Ian leaned in to whisper to Lance.  “Fucking crazy, man.”  And he nipped quickly at the sensitive skin below Lance’s ear.  Michael was still a warm, solid presence behind him, one hand curled loosely around his hip.  Pieter was on Ian’s other side, his chin hooked companionably over one shoulder.  Lance closed his eyes for a second and tried to replay exactly how he’d gotten into this fucking amazing situation.  He knew there was a great deal of beer involved, and some heavy flirting and he certainly remembers ending up in Michael’s lap after a particularly bad round of dancing (with Pieter’s laughing </i>”But don’t you get paid to do that?”</i> ringing in the background).  He was pretty sure going back to the Village had been Ian’s idea.  In fact, rubbing absently at the bite on his neck, Lance was pretty sure _everything_ had been Ian’s idea.

Apparently Ian Thorpe was lucky enough—or important enough—to warrant a private room.  And since all the rooms were built to identical specs, that meant two beds.  Two beds that had been pushed to the center of Ian’s room to make one _enormous_ bed.  Lance opened his mouth to say something snarky about the maids wondering what exactly went on in here but the words caught in his throat as Pieter closed the door behind them all and was immediately pressed back against it, Ian’s mouth drawing whimpers from Pieter’s throat as he sucked on the prominent Adam’s apple.  “Ian has a thing for Adam’s apples,” Michael voiced from next to him and Lance flushed hotly.  Michael’s hand slipped between the hem of Lance’s shirt and his jeans and he hissed softly at the feeling of cool fingers against his warm belly.  Ian looked up at the sound and grinned, turning slightly so that Pieter was pressed up against his side, arms still firmly around Ian’s waist.

“So.  Being our guest, Mr. Bass, is there anything in particular you would like to do this evening?”

Lance’s brain (or, if he were being honest with himself, his groin) could think of a _number_ of things he would like to do this evening.  But he couldn’t stop his eyes from darting left to where Michael was pulling his shirt lazily over his head.  Lance had never seen a body that beautiful that wasn’t carved from marble.  Pieter’s snicker from the doorway sounded annoyingly like Jesse’s.  Lance turned to catch him whispering something to Ian.

“Well, we can’t blame him, love,” was Ian’s reply.  “It is the Year of Our Lord Michael Phelps, after all.”  Lance strained to hear any bitterness in the statement and was surprised to find none at all.  Lance had had poolside tickets to swimming events all week and had watched them all breaking records and racing each other time and again.  Michael had come away with eight medals, _eight_ , soundly stealing Ian’s thunder.  But when Michael replied to the statement with a more-than-slightly embarrassed “Fuck off” as Ian waggled his eyebrows suggestively, Lance understood that the competition evaporated as soon as they left the arena.  In fact, based on the way Pieter draped himself on Ian, the way Michael noticeably relaxed every time Pieter laughed, the way Ian seemed to know where Michael was in a room without looking… Lance wondered exactly how long this had been going on.  He turned his head back to Michael, now stripped to boxers and a grin.

“Um.”  He felt suddenly uncertain.  “How does this _work_ exactly?”

Michael giggled and Lance was suddenly reminded that he was still just a kid.  “We don’t have, like, a _plan_ , we just… are.  Do.”  He looked past Lance’s shoulder.  “Ian?”

Ian strode across the room and stood behind Lance, long arms coming around Lance’s shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt from the top.   Michael’s fingers worked on the bottom ones.  “You see,” Ian planted a kiss on Lance’s temple.  “ _this_ is who we get to be when we’re alone.  In here,” he slipped Lance’s shirt off and another kiss landed on his now-bare shoulder, “we get to be with people who understand that we aren’t symbols or icons or fucking horses to be raced,” Michael’s eyes flashed darkly at Ian’s words.  Lance understood that they’d had this conversation before.  Many times.  He watched as Ian’s hand came around to cradle the back of Michael’s neck, sandwiching Lance between them for a long, deep kiss.  He took the opportunity to run his hands down Michael’s smooth sides and slip his fingers below the waistband of his boxers.  Michael gasped and took a small step forward, his cock grinding hard into Lance’s stomach.  He could feel Ian too, hard and hot against his back and the slick sounds of Ian and Michael’s kiss reverberated in his ear as Lance licked a long line from Michael’s shoulder to his taut nipple.

Ian pulled away from the kiss with a “Fuck” hissed into Michael’s mouth when a hand—Pieter’s, it had to be—snaked between Lance’s body and Ian’s and began stroking Ian through his jeans.  “I’m missing all the fun.”  Lance heard the heavily accented purr over his shoulder as he scraped his teeth lightly over Michael’s nipple, enjoying the effects as the perfect body arched into his mouth.  Suddenly, Ian was gone with a growl that sent shivers down Lance’s spine (and Michael’s too) and he could hear the rustling of clothes behind him and Pieter crying out in a language Lance didn’t understand.

Michael’s hand, now firmly on the back of Lance’s neck, tugged his head up forcefully into the kind of kiss that sucked all the air from his lungs.  Feeling Michael leaning into him, Lance maneuvered a thigh snugly between Michael’s legs and slid his hands past the elastic band of Michael’s underwear and around to cup his ass firmly.  He ran a finger experimentally down the cleft, pressing in lightly until the pad of his finger found Michael’s opening, and was rewarded by a gasping, shuddering breath that broke their kiss.  Lance smiled into Michael’s cheek and dropped his voice as low he could to the octave that Chris called his “porngasm voice”.  “I’m gonna fuck you.”  He could feel Michael’s eyelashes fluttering on his cheek and knew Michael was looking across the room.

Ah.  Well, Lance wasn’t going to ignore protocol then.  He raised his voice to normal volume.  “That is, if Ian doesn’t object.”

Not releasing Michael from his grip, Lance turned them both slightly so he could see behind him.  Pieter was splayed over the bedspread like a Dutch Adonis.  Ian’s mouth, which had until recently been wrapped around Pieter’s still-wet cock, was now crooked in amusement at Lance and Michael.  “Like I would deny him that.  He’s wanted this since he saw you at the pool on Monday.  Should have heard him in the locker room.  ‘Oh my god, Thorpe!’”—Ian did a spot on impression of Michael’s flat Midwestern accent—“’Lance fucking Bass is here!’  I had no idea who you were, but he was almost bouncing like a fucking schoolgirl.  Should have seen his face when I told him you were walking over to our table tonight.”

Michael’s face was buried in Lance’s shoulder but he could feel the heat pooling in his cheeks.  Michael was blushing crimson.  And God help him, but Lance thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.  “You’re a fan?”

Michael wouldn’t lift his head, but nodded into Lance’s shoulder.  Lance caught Ian’s eye and grinned.  Ian rolled his eyes in response and leaned back in to plant a line of small bites up Pieter’s right thigh, Pieter’s fingers threading through his short hair.

Lance sucked lightly at Michael’s collarbone for a moment before whispering in his ear, “I’m a fan of yours, too, you know.  Haven’t been able to get you out of my head all fucking week.”  Michael smiled into his shoulder and lifted his head just enough to recapture Lance’s mouth with his own.   Obviously feeling less embarrassed than the moment before, Michael’s hands found Lance’s hips again and shoved lightly, walking them backward toward the bed without breaking their kiss.  Michael’s kisses were sloppy, but enthusiastic, and Lance was reminded again of his youth.  Young, Lance noted to himself with a wry smile as Michael practically picked him up and threw him on the bed, but not innocent.  Michael had shucked his boxers at the edge of the bed and was now undoing Lance’s jeans quickly and pulling them down and off his feet with a small “Whoop!” that made Lance laugh out loud.

Lance had never been particularly ashamed of his body, especially after astronaut training had given him abs even Justin had envied, but he was suddenly aware of the vast amount of perfect swimmers muscle on all sides of him.   He was also painfully aware that he had spent the last few weeks eating baklava instead of going to the gym and _working_ on his abs.  Luckily, before he could slip any further into self scrutiny, Michael had knelt between his thighs and begun to suck hungrily at said abs before moving lower and licking one long, wet line from the base of Lance’s cock to the tip and swallowing him whole.

“Jesus fuck!” Lance barely kept from bucking his ass completely off the bed and his arms scrabbled to find purchase on the bedspread.  His right hand connected with warm skin and he turned his head, eyes still dazed, to see Pieter laid out next to him.  Lance took Pieter’s hand in his own and squeezed as Michael’s tongue twirled expertly over his slit.  Pieter’s eyes opened slowly, looking down to see Michael and Ian’s head’s bobbing in tempo and managed to exhale something in Dutch that Lance’s brain translated as “Holy shit that is the hottest thing I have ever seen” before he came into Ian’s mouth, shaking and squeezing Lance’s hand until the knuckles were white.

Ian left Pieter to catch his breath and moved to where Michael’s mouth was slowly driving Lance insane.  He could see Ian’s hand snaking between Michael’s legs and felt Michael’s rhythm break for a second as Ian’s hand closed around his dick.  Ian was leaning over to whisper something in Michael’s ear, but Lance was distracted by a dip in the bedsprings as Pieter rolled closer and, not letting go of Lance’s hand, leaned in to kiss him.  Pieter’s tongue was rolling lazily in his mouth and Michael’s was sucking wetly on his cock and just as Lance was pretty sure he was going to explode at any second and thought he should probably warn them in case they wanted to save themselves, Michael released Lance’s cock with a wet ‘pop’ and groaned loudly, resting his forehead on the soft skin of Lance’s belly.

Pieter actually broke the kiss first, murmuring “You’ll want to see this” against Lance’s panting mouth and motioned toward the end of the bed.  Michael was still kneeling between Lance’s legs, his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up, and he’d shifted to allow Ian to lean over his back and lick long, slow circles down his tailbone to where one thumb was already buried knuckle-deep in Michael’s ass.  Lance held his breath as he watched Ian’s thumb pulse quickly, driving deeper into Michael and then pulling out entirely to be replaced by Ian’s wet tongue.  Michael’s gasps became sobs and Lance could feel the hot puffs of air against his cock as Michael shook under Ian’s ministrations.  Pieter’s voice cut through the slick sounds below-- “Ian always knows which buttons to push”-- and Lance could feel the smile in the statement.

It wasn’t two minutes later that Ian’s free hand reached around to grasp Michael’s cock, his tongue still pushing inside, and with three strong strokes, Michael was coming hard into Ian’s hand, splattering Lance’s thigh.  Lance had to grit his teeth to keep from coming as Michael collapsed onto his heels, sweat pooling between his shoulder blades as Ian ran his hands comfortingly up and down his back.

“That should do it, don’t you think, Pete?”  Pieter just laughed and reached down to help Ian drag Michael by the arms up the bed and onto his back next to Lance.   Michael rolled his head sleepily to the side, staring out at Lance with hooded eyes.  Ian tugged at Lance’s hand, pulling him up onto his knees and wrapping a strong arm around his waist before kissing him deeply.  If Michael’s kisses had been sloppy and Pieter’s sweet, Ian’s were… entire.  He sucked on Lance’s tongue hungrily and bit sharply at Lance’s bottom lip.  Trying experimentally to pull away, Lance found (like he knew he would) that Ian was holding his head firmly in place, allowing as little movement as possible, dictating where Lance could move, when he could breath.  He was dizzy from lack of oxygen by the time Ian let him go, twisting him around until he was situated between Michael’s legs.  Michael was a portrait in obscenity beneath him, legs splayed open wantonly, one knee bent, arching under Pieter’s mouth closing over a nipple, right hand gripping tightly at the headboard.

“Shit…”  Lance was intensely grateful for Ian’s steadying presence behind him.

“He’s fucking gorgeous, isn’t he?  I learned early on to bring him off before I fuck him.  It relaxes him _everywhere_.  Pieter?”  On cue, Pieter planted one last kiss to Michael’s sternum and rolled over to the bedside table, handing Ian an assortment of condoms and lube.  Lance reached out to take one, but Ian batted his hand away.  “Let me,” he growled low in Lance’s ear, ripping the foil off the condom and reaching around to roll it expertly up Lance’s shaft.   Lance was painfully hard and he hissed at the contact.  Ian chuckled behind him.  “You might want to calm down a bit there, mate.  In this state, he could take you for hours.”

Lance was absolutely sure he would _not_ last for hours.

He watched, fixated, as Ian slipped two lubed fingers into Michael with seemingly no resistance whatsoever.  “You should have seen him last night.”  Ian’s voice slipped and slid past the rush of blood in Lance’s ears.  “We can’t, before we race, and the Golden Boy here had to swim in _everything_ ,” Ian deftly added another finger without breaking his rhythm, “he was so fucking tight when we started I was seeing stars.  Didn’t take him long to remember me, though.”   He removed his fingers from inside Michael and slicked Lance with lube, nudging him forward with his hip.  Lance blinked slowly a few times, shaking his head at the whole situation.  This was so far past anything he’d imagined this night becoming…

He slipped into Michael, and it was so easy, so _hot_ , that he couldn’t stop the moan that slipped past his lips as Michael ached up again and again into his slow, hard thrusts.  “Lance, please, fuck.” His head thrashed on the sheets as Lance sped up, Pieter’s hand running in calming circles down Michael’s side and back up his stomach, placing sweet closed-mouth kisses over Michael’s mouth and eyelids.  Lance was just at the point of losing conscious thought, completely overcome by the rhythm and the look of Pieter’s fingers on Michael’s stomach and Michael’s not-so-quiet pleas of “more” and “harder” and “oh god” when he felt a strong hand on his back, pushing him onto his hands.  Lance’s breath caught in his throat as he felt a cool finger press gently against his ass, pressing firmly past the ring before Lance could register he was there.

“Ian.” He felt Michael’s impatient movement beneath him and had to squeeze his eyes shut to focus on relaxing around Ian’s hand.  As Ian worked another finger into his ass, Lance kept up a guttural mantra of “Ohgodohgodohgod _ohgodohgod_ ”, buried entirely in Michael.  He registered the sound of kissing as Pieter tried to distract Michael.  Lance knew he had to just relax into it, let Ian slide inside him and dictate the rhythm, let Ian fuck Michael with Lance’s cock.

Ian was big, but generous with lube, and in reality it only took a few minutes before he was pushing fully into Lance, gripping his hips tightly.  Lance’s breaths were coming at completely random intervals now as he tried to process the dual sensations of being inside Michael and Ian’s cock stretching him, sliding slickly over his prostate every few strokes.  Ian’s hands on his hips pulled and pushed Lance with every thrust until they were both pounding into Michael with such force that he worried they would hurt him.  But Michael was growing hard again, his cock leaving angry white lines of precome streaked across Lance’s chest as he bounced up into Lance and Ian.

He could hear the insistent mewls coming from Michael as his thighs (fucking _huge_ thighs) vibrated under the strain.  Lance was glad to realize that Ian’s breathing was also ragged over his shoulder.  The gorgeous sounds coming from Michael’s mouth were suddenly muffled and Lance looked up to see Pieter kneeling over his head, Michael lapping eagerly at his balls.  Without a second thought, Lance leaned in closer and sucked the hot head of Pieter’s cock into his mouth, Ian’s heavy thrusts causing him to pull off a second later.  Lance had the impression that he had accidentally usurped Pieter’s normal position tonight and figured this was only fair as Pieter’s fingers wound in the hair at the nape of Lance’s neck, cursing loudly as he learned Ian’s rhythm, fucking Lance’s mouth with each of Ian’s forward thrusts.

Michael came first, to Lance’s great surprise, crying out underneath them all and gripping Lance’s forearm like a vice.  White lightening streaked Lance’s vision as Michael’s orgasm caused him to contract hotly around his cock.  Ian held them all still for a moment as Michael gasped for air, whispering “Pieter next…” in Lance’s ear before leaning up and pulling Pieter in for a kiss.  It wasn’t a request.

Lance refocused entirely on Pieter’s cock, sucking in three long, slow passes before slacking his jaw and sliding down until his nose was buried in the dark hairs at the base.  He held Pieter’s hip to keep up the pattern of ‘1-2-3-swallow’ even as Ian resumed his fucking lazily, agonizingly slow passes causing Lance to tighten around him involuntarily.  Just as Lance’s arms were about to give from the twin strain of holding himself upright and balancing Pieter, he gave one last deep swallow and Pieter was coming hard and without warning, pulling out of Lance’s warm mouth and spilling hot on Michael’s chest.  “U gaat me doden, u Amerikaanse fucker”, he managed through gritted teeth, slowly releasing his grip in Lance’s shoulder.

As Pieter leaned back to rest against the headboard, Lance lowered himself onto his elbows, his forehead buried in the crook of Michael’s neck.  Michael, who had been watching his mouth on Pieter with a look bordering on awe spoke quietly into his ear.  “You have to teach me that swallow thing.  Pete _never_ says that.”

Lance managed a small barking laugh before being Ian resumed in earnest, every stroke forcing the air from his battered lungs and driving him deep into Michael.  Michael rubbed his neck and down his spine, and the words in his ear alternated between comforting and needy.  “Isn’t he fucking amazing?... nothing like it… oh _god_ , please, Lance, fuck”.  Ian made a low growl from behind him, his thrusts beginning to go errant.  Lance risked a glance over his shoulder to see Ian there, hair slicked to his sweat soaked forehead, the strong veins on his arms visible as he held Lance firmly in place.  The look on his face was a mixture of wild lust and perfect control and Lance wanted more than anything to watch as Ian fell apart, to drag the thin veneer of control out of place and watch him dissolve.

“Come on,” he breathed, catching Ian’s eye as the next thrust come completely off rhythm.  But Ian simply smiled and nodded past him to Michael.

It was like they had it choreographed.  At Ian’s look, Michael whimpered and closed around Lance, tightening and releasing randomly, out of time with Ian’s now-brutal slides, but with Michael seeming to know by the arch of Lance’s back exactly when Ian was making him see stars.  Lance sobbed into Michael’s neck, a string of curse words becoming increasingly less intelligible until he gave up all together and settled into one long cry as he came, shuddering, into Michael.  He missed seeing Ian lose control a moment later but heard it in his hitched voice, felt it in the way Ian collapsed onto him, saw it reflected hazily in Michael’s wide grin as he reached up to run a cooling hand over Ian’s cheek.

Pieter tugged Ian around the waist and rolled him into a heap to Michael’s left.  Lance, who felt like he’d been inside Michael long enough to be considered an appendage, slipped out with a sigh and rolled to his right.

“So.”  Michael sounded almost… energetic.  Lance pried open one eye to peer at him.  Sure enough, Michael was looking right at him, grinning like a kid.  Lance couldn’t help but grin back.

“You actually have the energy to _chat_?”

Pieter let out a belly laugh at that.  Ian just whacked Michael weakly in the thigh.

Lance closed his eyes again and began contemplating how the hell he was going to get to the bathroom.  He was pretty sure his legs wouldn’t work, but a shower would be a good idea.  Michael, already restless, let out a melodramatic sigh.

“What, Mike?”  Pieter’s chest muffled Ian’s question.

“I’m gettin’ cold.”

The rest of the bed let out a collective groan.  “Then shower, you idiot!”  Lance grinned when he heard the distinct sound of a flicked finger hitting skin.

“Someone has to come _with_ me…”

 _Oh God…_   The kid was actually _whining_.  Lance let the grin fall into a full giggle when he realized that whiny Michael was sounding a hell of a lot like whiny Justin.

“Michael.”  Opening his eyes as he felt the bed move, Lance saw Ian up on one elbow, staring down at Michael with a failed attempt at a stern look.  “We are _tired_.”

Michael just sat up slowly without so much as a wince (and Lance was beginning to wonder what the hell swimmers practice doing all day) and grinned wickedly at Ian.

“Come on Thorpedo.  Race you…”

They were off the bed like bullets, Pieter laughingly dragging Lance behind.

 _That’s it,_ he thought to himself groggily.  _I am defecting to Australia._


End file.
